


valediction

by zonophone



Category: Inazuma Eleven
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 08:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12767424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zonophone/pseuds/zonophone
Summary: Fudou drops by Sakuma's place on a hot summer's day.





	valediction

then came human beings; they wanted to cling, but there was nothing to cling to

 

 

  
“Fancy fruit.”   
The words are muffled by the half chewed off white flesh inside Fudou's mouth.  
It's enough to make Sakuma want to gag.   
“Your folks rich or something? Had some pretty tasty stuff back at the hospital that time we first met, too.”  
He's dangling the bitten shiny red apple on his left hand and, well—the symbolism is so disgusting Sakuma has to hold back another attempt at retching.  
“You know they're not.”  
Fudou snorts.  
“Rich enough for me.”  
Sakuma's apartment overlooks the mountains. On good days, out of the balcony on the back, you can catch a glimpse of the ships coming into the bay. Fudou's apartment gives him a nice view of his neighbor's balcony, where he hangs his laundry out to dry in the dirty breeze, turns socks grayer and grayer with every bleach laced wash.

Sakuma prefers hanging out there. Prefers pushing down the odd feeling of guilt and concern at his unearned privileges with a wave of his hand. He's good at ignoring, he's had plenty of practice.

Today though he walked in to find Fudou, feet up on his coffee table, sitting on the couch in his small living room, leafing through an Italian soccer magazine.

Fudou's smile when he shrugs, eyes back on the magazine, is—Sakuma has to admit begrudgingly, his face the one of a person who's captivated by the way sunlight filters in through the thin curtains of his bay window, swaying because Fudou's left them opened since he most likely came in through them—His smile is disarming. This is a kid who's always gotten away with things. This is a kid who's never asked for permission. This is a kid who's never been anyone else's shadow. This is a kid who looked just the same years ago when they first met and he asked Sakuma to nurse his anger and resentment and he promised power, he promised—

“What're you doing here? I'm tired,” Sakuma plops down on the couch, next to Fudou, is perfectly conscious of the way Fudou's knee bumps against his own when he pulls them off the coffee table, the way Fudou's forearm—the hairs on it—rub against his own.  
“AC's broken back at mine.”  
“Your place doesn't have AC. What do you want?” Sakuma watches drops of sweat run down the back of Fudou's neck. He didn't even turn on the AC. He probably feels Sakuma's eyes on the patch of skin below his hair and above his low cut t shirt line and swipes his hand over it.  
“Didn't know how to work your AC.”  
Sakuma just nods, leans back on the couch and closes his eyes. Fudou's eyes, he feels them, slide over the curve of his neckline like a whisper. He has to open his eyes.  
“Couple of games?” he offers, eyes on the ceiling, pretending he can't feel the phantom stroke of invisible fingers on his throat.  
“Sure,” Fudou says, but leans back all the same, stares maybe at the same spot on the ceiling Sakuma's watching. Maybe somewhere else. The pressure of his knee and his arm are still there.

 

 

 

Sakuma caves in and turns on the AC in his room once a second drop of sweat runs down the middle of his chest, falls without any grace on his stomach, curved by his position, legs crossed on the floor in front of the TV.  
Fudou discarded his own shirt fourty minutes into their first round of Mortal Kombat. Sakuma's tolerance for heat is much higher.  
Now that they're on Super Mario Bros 3's battle game where Luigi and Mario face off each other in an endless encounter without much meaning other than deciding who's a better cheat he can't take much more.

Back in elementary school, Sakuma used to play this battle game against Kidou, just for the sake of a struggle of equals where not much than jumping around for coins was required. Kidou didn't enjoy it.

With Fudou though, since the first time they played, the night they had a sleep over and Sakuma brought over some games to distract himself from whatever he thought he might want to think about, it fit like a glove. They were more at ease. Between Mario and Luigi, there's no attempt at a plot. There's no villain to defeat. There's no backstory. There's no reason for the fight to be happening other than the fact that they've willed it so.

“Fucking finally.” Fudou wipes sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm while Sakuma watches, their game paused with Luigi stuck in mid-air, jumping with one hand pointing upwards. “I know you do it on purpose. You just love a sweaty Fudou.”  
“Don't be gross.”  
“I'm not complaining. I like the view too.”  
Sakuma rolls his eyes.  
“You wanna keep going or are you just gonna babble?”  
“I wanna shower after this, wanna try out that new conditioner you got.”  
“How'd you know?”  
“Told ya I go through your stuff while you're not here.”  
“Don't.”  
“Just wanna see if it's better than mine.”  
“Fine,” Sakuma sighs, puts his controller down. “Go now, I'll get popsicles from the fridge.”  
“Fancy.”  
Fudou leans his weight on Sakuma's knee to stand up. The hand is there for just the right amount of time. Any second longer and Sakuma'd—he'd—well, you see—there'd be too many things to do and consider and regret, he keeps telling himself and then drops it. Fudou's already disappeared by the time Sakuma's thoughts catch up to him and he entertains himself with the sight of Luigi, stuck in the midst of a pointless struggle, some daunting Sisyphus task Sakuma and Fudou force him to relive for no reason other than their own amusement.

 

 

 

By the time he makes his way to the freezer and back Fudou's already on the floor of the room, his weight on his hands behind him, shirt still off, hair wet from the shower, eyes on the ceiling and Sakuma wonders if that's the last thing he'll see before he dies.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a cmmission for june  
> pls consider cmmissionin me, take a look at my [listography](https://listography.com/diopan) or drop by my [kofi](https://ko-fi.com/diopan)


End file.
